


Fatigatis aptum

by Vanollo



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: AU - there is no cure, Angst, Angst and Feels, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Short One Shot, Wylan Van Eck i love you but you're suffering, Wylan van sunshine doesn't know that Jesper Fahey loves him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:27:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanollo/pseuds/Vanollo
Summary: It was exhaustion that finally hit him once and properly.





	Fatigatis aptum

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you "Life is Strange" soundtrack for keeping me company meanwhile writing this one shot, and inspiring me at the same time!!!

Wylan Van Eck was curled up on wooden floor next to his bed, which was as cold as the floor, and trying to stamp down sobbing. And that was hell of a hard task, because his whole body was quivering, fingers shaking and his mind couldn’t just shut up. He was squeezing his eyes as if it’d help him somehow, but actually was making _everything_ just harder. When he had his eyes closed, every single thought was bumping his insides, making head feel heavier, and when he had them open he felt dizzy, his stomach doing flips, and there were also tears blurring _everything_. Those damn tears were making everything harder, because he couldn’t focus on single thing, because _everything_ was damn fuzzy; he only knew that he was near to his creaky bed, but the rest of poor, old furniture was blear. Wylan couldn’t see anything.

That’s why he was trying _so hard_ to get rid of that damn sobbing. The walls were thick, and there was possibility that other filthy residents could hear his pathetic sounds. And especially Inej, who seemed to have damn cat ears, and no tiny sound could escape from her. It wasn’t the first time, when huge wave of woe and grief washed him over, but it surely was the day when he was damn _done_ with it.

He couldn’t get up – his limbs felt too weak, fingers numb, and there were those thoughts buzzing in his head and telling him how helpless he was. He knew, he, for fuck’s sake, knew that he was in pure shit, fucked up and damn cursed or something, but he _couldn’t_ help that no matter how hard he was trying, and didn’t need to be reminded of his powerlessness every single day. Living in Fifth Harbor was becoming harder from day to day, nay! Living in _Ketterdam_ itself became tougher. His life was bleak before that tricky bastard with frightening cane met him, but when he thought it was stabilizing, when thought he was _finally_ heading the good way, his fate decided to trick him just like that creepy Brekker, and make his days bleak _again_.

He was doing just _fine_ , finally getting _better_ , until he met that young man; dark brown skin and playful smile on his face, and…

Sobbing. Sob, sob, _sob_. He squeezed his eyes until it hurt, feeling as tears gathered in corners, but he couldn’t let them out, didn’t want to. He was going to squeeze his eyes as long as he had to, as long as every thought would go away. But he knew that no thought would go away, and that only made him sob harder. He could no longer keep those tears under closed eyes, they were making even the darkness fuzzy. Wylan opened eyes.

It felt as if he was sitting on some splitting suitcase, because of clothes’ plethora, and when he finally stood up, it opened with a screech, spitting every cloth out – it felt the same way with his tears. They were going down his cheeks, getting into his mouth and making him twist because of salty flavor. And then he _coughed_. It was a muffled, throaty cough, which was choking inside him, because Wylan didn’t want to let that sound out, too. But there he was – sobbing loudly, and coughing from time to time.

He had _no_ impact on how he was feeling, and that was pissing him off even more. He couldn’t get rid of that forceful, massive feeling overwhelming his body, his mind, his thoughts and leaving him only for a second, when Jesper Fahey wasn’t in sight. Whenever you passed by that particular person, it automatically hit your body with an attack of coughs, tears in the corners of eyes because of instant choking, and _flowers_. Those damn flowers. Wylan Van Eck hated flowers, and wished to get rid of them one day. But _that_ day wasn’t going to happen, and he was damn sure about it and that only made him cry harder.

He stoutly intertwined his own fingers and squeezed them, feeling as knuckles brushed against each other which was nothing more but _painful_. He tried to steady his breath. It was just another attack, right? He could handle the next one, _right_? He just had to inhale and exhale as always, as he told himself so. He just had to count to one hundred, and focus on silence in his room.

 _Well_ , the second step wasn’t that easy, because silence had been interrupted by sobs long time ago. Wylan was actually wondering how many tears a man could produce in one night –next, common, _familiar_ night in Barrel, which meant muffled sounds of people yelling, moaning or crying. All attempts to stamp down pitiful sobs were needless, because Wylan was especially devoid of strength. He truly wanted to gather himself together, stand up and lie down on his cold bed and quiver with cold until he’d fall asleep just to wake up with red circles under his eyes as usually, but _that_ night there was something what didn’t want to let him bounce back. _It_ made his limbs totally numb and powerless, body shake with concern and grief, throat constrict out of desire, and lungs cry out for help because there was _no_ chance he’d breathe steadily ever again.

It was exhaustion that finally hit him once and properly, and he knew that no help would stand him in good stead.

 _It_ started all of a sudden. Jesper Fahey was like vernal wind – once flying over glade to sway flowers, and once not showing up at all and leaving plants at their own. When Wylan looked at him for the first time there was no knot in his stomach, and no fog in front of his eyes, but when the other day he spoke to him something made Wylan blink few times. Jesper was one, huge tease and Wylan didn’t mind that at first. His teasing was making him blush and at the beginning he was ashamed of red blush covering his cheeks, and always looked away as long as not to meet Jesper’s playful look. That bashful feeling was pleasant at first, it reminded of cat chasing mouse, but it was turning into slothful and uncomfortable one way too _quickly_. The longer he talked to Fahey, the stronger the feeling became. The longer Fahey nudged him with an elbow or mischievously draped an arm around his neck, the stronger the feeling became. The longer Fahey smiled at him playfully or simply _stared_ right into his eyes, the stronger the feeling became. And all of that made it _unbearable_.

It was no longer pleasant, enjoyable knot in his stomach, and from day to day butterflies inside his belly were flapping faster. That whole infatuation became heavy and oppressive, and no longer healthy. Every time he came across Jesper his stomach was doing flips, making him dizzy, and every time he saw him grinning, laughing or being in his element, something inside him shut the air off, and Wylan caught himself suddenly coughing, his throat dry as if he was dehydrating himself. Every time Jesper was trying to playfully embrace him, or ruffle his curly hair, something made him cough _loudly_ and croakily, and, for dear heavens, every time he tried to _stamp down_ those exhausting coughs his attempts were that indifferent, that he was choking and everyone around him was handing him water, patting his back and asking what was happening (except for Kaz, who didn’t care as always), but how could he answer them, when he himself didn’t know _what was happening._ The coughs wouldn’t stop until he didn’t leave the place where Jesper was, looking at him worryingly, and did Wylan hate _that_ look on his face.

But the coughs weren’t the only one thing bothering him. When they were gaining strength he was choking, and when he was choking tears were appearing in corners of his eyes. It was as if something was stuck in his throat – some piece of meat, or massive drop – and he couldn’t cough it up. It made his stomach ache, and twist; his head dizzy, and stars appearing in front of his eyes. First time _it_ happened he was kneeling in front of toilet in a pub Nina and Inej decided to come over to. It was supposed to be _their_ outing, only three of them walking down Ketterdam’s street, what wasn’t the best idea because Ketterdam at its hours wasn’t safe and sound at all. And just when Wylan comfortably collapsed on seat, just when all of them ordered something to eat, just when he grabbed damned fork, they heard golden bell tingle and door opened. He didn’t even make it to take a bite of his pork, when Jesper collapsed next to him, sprawled his legs out and crouched over his meal, which seemed to be no more _delicious_ like moment ago. He said something to Wylan, or asked – he didn’t really know – but mentally he already wasn’t there. His mind automatically took him to whirl of _thoughts_. He felt approaching knot in his stomach, felt his throat tighten that it was hard to gulp anymore, his breath was unsteady and fingers were terribly sweating out of that tingly, irritating, exhausting and painfully _pleasant_ feeling. He felt something gathering in his throat as if he had kept hiding food in there, and now it was about to literally escape his throat and mess a wooden table they sat by.

Wylan quickly stood up, and fought his way through Fahey’s sprawled legs. He ran toward bathroom, stumbling and throatily coughing until he reached dark door, and pushed them. He didn’t even care if the door closed behind him (but with the strength he pushed it and an irritated yell coming out from bar counter, it was actually certain that the door was slammed shut), because he flattened himself against toilet, hands strongly holding onto lavatory seat. His whole body was shaking and it wasn’t neither out of cold, nor of anger. He could feel sweat coming down his forehead, when knuckles became white, and stomach literally spinning. Wylan’s coughs were echoing in the bathroom; he felt that something (whatever it was) gathered in his throat was going to come out his mouth right in second. He couldn’t focus on counting, because he was _that_ scared of what was happening to him. Just when thought he’d die in that filthy bathroom from constant _choking_ , just when tears were flowing down his cheeks, he almost screamed when finally threw up. He fucking _threw up_ like a dog after licking dirty grass. But when he thought he _finally_ let that weird shit out, he opened his eyes and realized that there was no place for relief.

When his vision was no longer fuzzy, or whirling, he noticed orange petals on wet floor and inside toilet. He blinked few times and wiped saliva up on his chin, and then took long, _deep_ indrawn breath. First thing that came to his mind was that Kaz Brekker larded him with damn _flowers,_ when he was peacefully sleeping, but then he realized that Kaz Brekker didn’t have time for such dumb things in his life. That whole time damn _flowers_ were choking him.

Wylan didn’t remember drinking any alcohol before going out with Nina and Inej, but he was damn sure that he was going for alcohol just when he’d come back to his room.

 

 

It wasn’t one-shot situation. Flowers didn’t disappear as Wylan thought they would. They came back. Many times. Basically they came back every time he interacted with Jesper Fahey. He _no longer_ could talk to him, have a chit-chat just like common person meanwhile next, common day. Wylan was damn afraid that someone could get to know his issue. His unexplainable _issue_ , which when once appeared, then never went away permanently. He wanted to keep it to himself as long as he could, besides there was _no_ need to let others know, right? They couldn’t help him anyways, so why bother them? They had their own life, problems they had to deal with. Neither Nina, nor Matthias or Inej could help him. He didn’t even dare to ask for help Kaz or _Jesper_. How could they cure _something_ that didn’t have any medical base surface, any medical explanation? He didn’t have any roots, or whatever shit, inside his lungs – if he had, he’d know about it, because he’d have it since being a little kid living in his father’s mansion, right? The flowers only showed up when Fahey was around or next to him, touching him or smiling at him. How _pathetic_ it’d be when he asked for help, how could he cherish illusions that someone could actually _cure_ him.

That’s why he asked Kaz Brekker for more work. Because, well, more work meant less time spending in Fifth Harbor, and so that meant less opportunities to meet Jesper.

Was that suffering? He didn’t know what was worse – separating himself from the person he _truly_ adored, and admired, or spending _short_ time in his company, because he could no longer bear stifling cough, and a knot inside his stomach omening appearing vomit orange flowers. Jesper Fahey was the person he relied on. Wylan trusted him, and even though he wasn’t the smartest person in Ketterdam he could still owe his life to him. If there was a person he’d like to spend time with till the end of time, it surely was _him_. Wylan loved his mischievous smiles or that gentle ones, when it was late evening, they were both tired, and Wylan was babbling some sleepy nonsense. Wylan loved his lively nature, not giving up posture, that gave him motivation and strength – Wylan didn’t follow only _Kaz_ ’ _s_ example. He was secretly learning _many_ things from Jesper’s behavior – even though most of them were kind of reckless. Wylan loved watching him as he held his guns, treating them with dignity and care (that was actually weird that sometimes he wished he was his guns just to be treated _that_ way), watching him as he took silent indrawn breath before he _perfectly_ shot. Holy shit, that whole _perfection_ he had in his fingers as if they were made for guns. Wylan loved his loud or muffled laughter in inappropriate situation; just when he laughed the whole world seemed to stop for a second, and there was no distress, no filthy Ketterdam’s streets, no storms waking him up in a middle of night. And finally – Wylan loved how Jesper payed attention to _him_ , when others seemed to neglect him. Jesper paying attention to Wylan evinced in many ways – most of the time it was pure, playful, impish teasing, but there were also jokes, remarks, codding or attentive listening to what was he saying – or better: what was he _murmuring_ , because he wasn’t loud and direct person, so most of the time he was just whispering something to himself while others were discussing, and Jesper had a habit to pick Wylan’s quiet words up, and then say them out loud. And sometimes it was just _staring_ ; Wylan could see Jesper intensely staring at him out of the corner of his eyes.

And Wylan Van Eck could no longer have _any_ of those things. And that made him suffer both – physically and mentally.

But that night he was so _done_ with that whole blossomy thing. It seemed like he reached his limit or something, as if he crossed the line he wasn’t supposed to cross, or delve into woods he knew was dangerous for him. Because _that_ night Jesper Fahey tried to kiss him, and all he could do was just run away as if he was a damn chicken, and his love a fox.

It was dark, rainy evening – nothing new for filthy Ketterdam. Wylan was making his way toward Fifth Harbor, his hair dewy from gentle rain, cheap coat from shop next door wet, and tip of his nose pink because of nightly cold. He tried to walk as quietly as he could, because walking Ketterdam’s streets wasn’t _that_ safe and especially at nightly hours – someone could hear individual footsteps and decide to attack, and Wylan didn’t wish to see Brekker’s disappointment if not anger. Relief he felt when saw Fifth Harbor on the horizon disappeared as quickly as it appeared, because he noticed tall person playing with their gun in hand by twiddling it and flipping, at the door. Only _one_ person could stand that calmly with a gun in hand. Stress immediately washed him over, he could feel his heartbeat speeding up. There was no other way, he couldn’t escape, he couldn’t change his direction. Well, _of course_ , he could turn back but if only wasn’t noticed by tall man on the horizon. He came to a stop, and stared at man rushing toward him. The rain was buzzing in his ears, kind of merged into one, fuzzy sound, preventing Wylan from hearing any other sounds as if there was nothing but _rain_. It was dark, and Wylan didn’t notice anyone besides him, he thought he was _alone_ on a street, but _hell_ – he was damn _wrong._ Then he was fucked up.

The rain was buzzing in his ears even louder, excruciatingly _louder_ , when Jesper approached him and blocked his view, that he saw nothing but his tall posture, concerned eyes, and he had his hands out as if in defensive gesture, as if Wylan was threatening him.

“I… I need to talk to you, _please_ , just a second…” his voice sounded nervous, and that made Wylan gulp. “I-I know you’ve been avoiding me lately, and I don’t know why, don’t know what have I done, but…” he scratched his nape and made a forward step, and that made Wylan quiver, but not with cold. “But you _have_ _to_ know about it and…”

Wylan was falling. Or drowning. He wasn’t sure. He only knew that there was thick, black liquid embracing his body, coming into his mouth, filling his nostrils, blurring his vision with darkness, when Jesper took him by the hand, when his _warm_ fingers intertwined with his _cold_ and shaky. One second ago he felt his presence, he heard him talking, he saw him in front of him, and then it was as if he was fading away even though Wylan wanted to _stop_ him, to _keep_ him by his side, but it was too late. Wylan couldn’t understand the words that were escaping Fahey’s mouth, didn’t _hear_ them, because he was that focused on breathing. Wylan brushed his knuckles with thumb, and felt heavy knot gathering in his stomach. Wylan didn’t know how and why, but Jesper always smelled like cinnamon in grandmother’s jar, and damn, did he _love_ that wonderful scent. And when Jesper got even closer to him, he panicked.

He coughed right in front of Jesper’s lips which were only an inch from his. He panicked, because of how _close_ Jesper Fahey was to him; he could see delicate wrinkles on his forehead and rosy cheeks – he didn’t know whether because of cold, or what was happening in _that_ moment. It was like that one, resonant cough brought him back to reality; there was no black, thick liquid surrounding him, no buzzing in ears. There was only Jesper an _inch_ from him. From his lips.

Wylan coughed. And then coughed. And coughed, coughed, _coughed._ That made Jesper make a backward step. Wylan didn’t feel Fahey’s hand restfully rub his shoulder, didn’t see the concern in his eyes, was he even saying anything to him? Because he had his mouth open. Wylan winced, when his stomach painfully twisted as if it was a wet towel and someone was rolling it just to get rid of wetness. And then it happened again – his stomach _hurt_ as if someone just hit it few times. Wylan didn’t even try to stamp down his throaty coughs, because it was as if he was trying to get rid of that _pain_ in his belly with them. But the coughs only  degenerated into choking. He was near to tears, because choking had never ached _that much_ before, and anxiety was only making it worse. He couldn’t take an indrawn breath, because one cough after another was interrupting him. He embraced his stomach with an arm as if it could help him calm down, which, of course, was damn _stupid_. When Wylan felt shudder washing his legs over, sweat appearing on forehead, he knew that he couldn’t wait any _longer_.

He pushed Jesper away, and ran toward Fifth Harbor’s door, stumbling and nodding. His legs already felt numb and painfully _weak_ , his dry throat hurt from endless coughing, he thought his lungs were going to _explode_ in a minute if he didn’t do anything. But _what_ could he do? He could just cry, and beg for help meanwhile going up creaking stairs inside that damn Fifth Harbor. He missed a step and fell, his knees already smarting because of collapse. Wylan squeezed his eyes to prevent himself from crying like a troublesome crybaby, and felt as something twisted inside his stomach, but that time not out of pain. _That_ made his head dizzy, made him see a plume of blackness undulating in front of his eyes. And then an orange petal came out of his mouth – or actually, flew out like a fish. Saliva flew down his chin and ended on wooden step. Wylan _sobbed_ and clumsily stood up, holding onto banister as if his life depended on it.

Wylan opened door to his bleak, dark room with élan, and distractedly slammed it shut. And then there he was – collapsed on cold floor, because he didn’t even make it to the bed, which was as cold as the floor, sobbing, sobbing and _sobbing_ , because he had enough of _it_.

In that moment he wished to be in meek, warm room with fireplace and soft sofa in front of it. He would throw wooly blanket over himself, and then just stare at tangerine fire burned in the fireplace, cracking quietly and soothingly, until he’d fall asleep. Wylan would like to be at _any_ place, wherever it was warm and cozy, as long as he didn’t have to lie on humid, coldish floor in dark room brimful of obnoxious scent of old, stinky books and sweat-soaked duvet. His thoughts were gathering inside his head, spinning and dizzying him. Wylan desperately wanted to get rid of them, but when orange petals escaped his mouth it was too late. Vomiting flowers and feeling queasily-sweet flavor on tongue was just a half of the reason Wylan was sobbing; it wasn’t like all thoughts about Jesper went away when he already vomited obnoxious petals, au contraire! They were even getting stronger, making Wylan throw up _more_ orange petals, until he was choking because there wasn’t even second to take a breath. He suffered on floor until he spat blood out along with flowers, metallic flavor on tip of his tongue, until his face was red like poppy’s petals because of constant throaty sounds and choked weeping.

He felt pathetic and deedless. Wylan didn’t know how long it took him to calm down, he never looked at a clock, because he never _wanted to_ know how long he cried into his beer. He just felt terribly _exhausted_ ; curled up like a baby in mother’s bed, embracing his wobbly legs and digging knees into wet, dirty with blood chin. He was looking at orange, wet petals next to cheek, making a carpet on floor, single salty tears going down his reddened cheeks, but he wasn’t sobbing anymore. Wylan’s eyes were also exhausted, and mightily heavy, but he couldn’t close them, because they smarted every time he tried to as if they didn’t want to let him escape the reality he couldn’t accept.

Because it wasn’t the last time those damn petals escaped his mouth. Wylan had enough of them, he wanted them to miraculously go away, he wanted to rip himself into pieces so he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore; he wouldn’t have to feel that terrible pain in his stomach, acute sting in lungs. He had enough of worrying whether he’d survive another attack of those damn flowers – even though every time he just _knew_ that he’d survive, because that damn thing wasn’t _that_ easy to defeat, his thoughts and panic were just messing with him meanwhile every attack.

Wylan had no idea how could he live any longer with awareness that he loved Jesper Fahey and couldn’t do anything about it, because that _damned_ petals wouldn’t let him make any forward step. He could no longer _just_ look at him, listen intently to his ridiculous babble or embrace him, gently brush his hand with fingers. Wylan became shorn of what he truly _loved_. Jesper was _something_ that made Wylan want to wake up every morning, what showed him that he was worthy, what brightened all those days in filthy Ketterdam, until first petal. Now he was fading away and Wylan couldn’t stop him.

Wylan didn’t know why he couldn’t love the love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading this shiii!!!  
> If you'd like, you can let me know what you think of it!
> 
> I miss "Six of Crows" so damn much, wish I had time for rereading grrr.


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